Life Imitating Art
by Shinoda Senshi
Summary: Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; And therefore is winged cupid painted blind...*Warning: Contains m/m slash*
1. Chapter 1

**Life Imitating Art**

**1.**

"_What the hell are you doing?"_

Mark lurched out of his chair, clutching the laptop to his chest. It often surprised him how, despite his immense size, Kane could creep as quietly as a caterpillar. It was unsettling. Unnerving. And a pain in Mark's ass. "I told you not to do that! You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"You have no heart, Mark." Suspicious, Kane eyed the device his brother held. To his knowledge, Mark was not a "device" kind of guy. He could barely program the coffee maker. Being in possession of a laptop could only spell trouble for the world at large. "Now answer my question. What the hell are you doing?"

"Would you believe," started Mark, "that I'm shopping for your birthday present online?"

Kane shook his head. "No. For three reasons." He ticked them off on his fingers. "One: You don't shop. Not unless absolutely necessary. Two: You've never given me a birthday present. Or anyone else, for that matter. And last: You don't do 'online'. You'd probably try to put postage on an email."

Glowering, Mark took umbrage to his brother's low view of his computer skills. Granted, said skills were limited. Nonetheless, they did exist. "I'll have you know I am quite savvy when it comes to technological progresses."

"Really?" Kane was still disbelieving. He knew his brother as well as he knew himself. Mark had something to hide and Kane would sniff it out. "What's an IP address?"

In truth, Mark had no idea what an IP stood for, let alone why it would need an address. However, he would not give Kane the satisfaction of seeing him stumped. "Go to hell," spat Mark. "Take a toothbrush."

Kane knew he had his brother cornered. "Show me what you're doing before I slip dye into your shampoo and turn you whole head purple."

"It's none of your concern," Mark assured him.

"I get concerned when you tell me it's none of my concern. If you're looking at porn, just tell me and I'll leave you… to your device."

What he was perusing was not porn. Per se. Some were a bit on the risqué side. Some were just flat-out funny. Kane would have to learn about it someday. It would be better if it came from his family.

Mark handed Kane the laptop. "You'd better sit down, baby brother."

As seconds ticked by, transforming into minutes, Kane's eyes grew bigger and bigger. His jaw dropped open. His brain screamed for him to stop reading. For the love of God, stop reading!

"How did you…" sputtered Kane. "Where did you… _I never did that!_"

Mark was well aware of the mind-blowing visions unfolding before his brother's eyeballs. And that particular parcel was just the tip of the iceberg. "Oh, it gets better," Mark chuckled.

"How?" hollered Kane. "Do I impale myself on one of the pyrotechnic cannons?"

"No… But Chris Jericho does impale himself on your –"

"_Mark, please!_" Kane shut the laptop. Distraught, he shoved it back at his brother. Never in the history of their relationship had he so much as lent Chris Jericho a stick of gum. The two of them were barely cordial. They traveled in completely different circles. Chris hung out with the Hardys along with a bunch of other faces. Kane roamed in an orbit all his own. As of late, Chris seemed to be avoiding Kane all together.

A sickening thought entered Kane's head. "Mark? Please, _please_ tell me you're the only one who knows about this."

"Sorry, baby brother." Mark didn't know Kane could scream that loud. "If it makes you feel any better, you're not the only subject on that site. They run the gamut of pairings. Even you and I have been together."

Kane was on the verge of ripping his hair out. "But you're my brother! I barely like you! Why would I have _sex_ with you?"

"That's your only hang up?" Mark raised a dark eyebrow. "Being a jackass renders me unfuckable. And for your information, I seem to be the top in ninety-nine percent of those interactions. And you take it like a champ."

"In the state I'm in," growled Kane, "there's not a jury in the world that would convict me of murdering you."

Mark smirked, "You going for the 'crime of passion' defense, sweet cheeks?"

"_Marcus!_" Funnily enough, his brother had been right. The internet _was_ the spawn of the devil and the eventual downfall of mankind. "This is not funny!"

"It's a little bit funny," said Mark. "I'm not bent out of shape because, while I love you in my own special way, I have never been inclined to bend you over a picnic table. If these folks want to portray us as having some secret love affair, then let them. Some of those stories are very, very entertaining. The question you should be asking yourself is not why they would concoct such scenarios. Why are you so affected by them?"

"Because they could never happen!" Kane could not understand why his brother could be so thick sometimes. His reasons were pretty clear. "It's impossible!"

Head titled to the side, Mark inquired, "Because you don't want Jericho?"

"Because Jericho doesn't want me!" The words were out before Kane could clamp his mouth shut around them. They bounced off the walls and assaulted his ear drums.

Sagely, Mark nodded his head. "Uh huh… You sure about that, big boy?"

A knock at the door kept Kane's brain from having to travel down that dangerous path.

Swinging the door open, Jeff Hardy's head poked into the room. "Hey, Mark, are you done with my computer?" He suddenly spotted Kane and his eyes grew to the size of bowling balls. Mark feared the young man was about to have a heart attack. Or shit his pants. "Kane… Hey… How's it… Hey…" Having run out of words, the Hardy simply shut his mouth. Mark thought that was for the best.

"I think we're gonna be a while longer," explained Mar. "This site is pretty extensive. Plus, my brother's a slow reader."

It wasn't that Mark delighted in his brother's discomfort. Well, perhaps a small part of him did. He was the Lord of Darkness, after all. Harley or no. Due to a number of circumstances – many of which Mark had been a driving force behind – Kane had built a protective shell around himself. Nothing got in. Mark was not the type to converse, at length, about his feelings. However, he had a strong sense that, without outside intervention, his baby brother would grow old and die alone. Mark could not have that on his conscience. Especially now that he knew Kane had a type.

Blond and arrogant.

To each his own…

Standing, Kane handed the laptop to Jeff. "I'm done," he declared. He had made a fool of himself in front of his brother and could only imagine the type of thoughts that were running through Hardy's head. Those thoughts were no more bizarre than the ones caused by the text he'd been subjected to. Kane knew that there were some twisted people out there. Even in his wildest dreams, Kane could not come up with some of those scenarios.

Jeff took the computer without a word. He had no idea what kind of shitstorm he had walked into, but he knew enough to keep his mouth shut.

"I'll see you back at the hotel," Kane addressed his brother over his shoulder. "Or at your funeral. Whichever comes first."


	2. Chapter 2

**2.**

"Well, how much did he read?" Jeff pressed the receiver closer to his ear. The babble of the restaurant did not make for easy listening. "Uh huh… Uh huh… What about the elevator one? _Damn_…" This was bad. Very, very bad.

In reality, half of their lives were fiction. Taking that into consideration, Jeff had not expected Kane to have such an adverse reaction to the website's postings. Granted, he also had not expected the man's older brother to be bone-headed enough to let him see the site in the first place. Mark, as far as Jeff was concerned, was not a long-term thinker.

Matt threw him a questionable look. A spot of mustard decorated the corner of his mouth. If this were one of those stories, Jeff thought, then he would most likely kiss away that smudge. Lucky for them both, they lived in the real world. Jeff knew damn well that if he were to try it, he'd end up with a smack upside the head and a steak knife between the eyes. The kind of Hardy love he shared with his brother was not the kind portrayed on the internet.

"What's wrong?" Matt asked. Putting Jeff's mind at ease, he wiped his mouth with a napkin.

Jeff responded, "Kane saw the site."

"What site?"

"The Frederick's of Hollywood site, Matthew," snapped Jeff. "Mark wanted his opinion on a lace teddy he was looking to buy." Despite being a brunette, Jeff found that his brother often had blonde moments. "The fanfiction website."

Matt nodded slowly. He could see that his brother was upset. So he would let the rude comment and surly attitude slide. "I don't care what they think; I'm not sleeping with Edge. I refuse to go to bed with a man whose hair is prettier than mine."

Mouth hanging open, Jeff stared at his brother. Stared and stared and stared. "Take a moment to examine that statement, Matt." He turned his attention back to his cell phone conversation. Mark had gone on as if Jeff had not been preoccupied. "Well, what do you want me to do about it?" The answer made Jeff choke on his iced tea.

Chris Jericho was a close friend. So close, in fact, that he hadn't cleaved Jeff's head in half after being shown some stories on the site. They had started in the humor section, dallied in the drama, before trying out the romance. Romance was a dangerous territory. A minefield. It contained pairings that boggled the mind. The females were usually fans, or unheard of family members of other wrestlers, or made-up Divas. Most likely, they had suffered some kind of hardship or were out to prove something to somebody. The relationships were either reluctantly started or made up of a couple that was destined to be together yet torn apart by circumstances beyond their control.

Which had led them to the male/male pairings.

Slash, as it was called.

Matt had assumed butcher knives and Halloween masks were involved. They all quickly learned the difference between slasher flicks and slash fiction. Sometimes, they both induced blood-curdling screams.

Edge boffed Christian. The Hardys broke the laws of nature on almost a regular basis. Even the Big Show got himself some ass. They were not surprised to discover the Undertaker portrayed as a bondage-loving, hard-fucking top dog. Nearly every Superstar in the locker room ended up as his bitch.

Chris Jericho had his share of bedmates. Matt Hardy. Jeff Hardy. Even players from different companies. Yet it was the interactions with Kane that had intrigued him the most. Jeff attributed it to some perverse desire to see just how far those writers could go.

If Mark could be believed, Kane did not find the imaginary coupling completely disgusting. The Big Red Machine was not about to declare his love on a billboard or write it across the sky. However, he may be open to, say, dinner and a movie. Or coffee in the park while feeding the squirrels.

What Mark failed to take into consideration was that there was a difference between being open to the possibility and going through with the idea. Mark would talk to Kane if Jeff put the suggestion to Chris. As far as Jeff was concerned, he had done enough damage for one lifetime. He had introduced Mark to the site – he couldn't remember why – and Mark had gotten Kane involved. Jeff was just grateful that Kane had not tombstoned the young Hardy on sight.

"With all due respect," started Jeff, "but have you taken a chair shot to the head recently? On the list of bad ideas, this falls just below bikini-waxing a polar bear. This is… This is nuts!"

Mark's question sent Jeff's head spinning. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"Do you want the whole list," asked Jeff, "or just the highlights? The reason I get along so well with my friends is that I don't go around setting them up. If they are meant to be, then the cosmos will make it so… No, I am not drunk. I am hungry and this conversation is keeping me from my dinner. Goodnight, Mark. And do us all a favor. Stay off the internet. It's a dangerous enough place without the Undertaker surfing around like a shark in chummy waters."

Jeff disconnected the call, finally able to dig into his cheeseburger. Luckily, it was still warm.

"I'm glad that's over," Matt said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

Laughing ruefully, Jeff asserted, "Oh, this isn't over. Mark has latched onto this idea like a pitbull with a porkchop. It's only a matter of time before his deviant mind cooks up a scheme."

"What's wrong with Kane and Chris getting together?" Matt took a sip of his soda. "I wouldn't go out with Kane…"

"Hair not pretty enough?" interjected Jeff.

"But Chris could do a lot worse. And he wasn't freaked out by that website."

"Because that stuff isn't real. No one worries about running into Big Foot during their morning jog or getting abducted and impregnated by aliens because that's all fiction. Twisted fiction."

Matt chewed his brother's argument over. "But… We _live_ fiction. Storylines and fake feuds. Triple H isn't really that big of an asshole. He's just drawn that way." He drummed his fingers on the table. "Maybe Chris would be good for Kane and vice versa. Or it could all blow up in our faces. Isn't that what life is all about?"

"Wow, Matt… That was deep."

"Thank you." The elder Hardy beamed. "I've been known to have my moments." Matt snapped his fingers in the air as brilliance blazed through his brain. "We should do a Beatrice and Benedict."

Again, Jeff simply stared at his brother. "Matthew, did someone slip something into your soft drink? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Get yourself some culture," scoffed Matt. "In Shakespeare's _Much Ado About Nothing_, the characters Beatrice and Benedict have these vicious verbal battles with one other. Their pride won't let them acknowledge their true feelings. So their friends 'help' them along. Making each believe the other is secretly in love with them, but so afraid of being rebuked that they dare not speak of it."

Rebuked, thought Jeff. Dare not? What _had_ gotten into his brother's system.

"In the end," Matt continued, "they realized that they had been tricked, but it was too late. Love had take root in their hearts." Matt grinned in triumph. "What do you think?"

Jeff thought long and hard before opening his mouth. "I think I may be the only sane person left on the planet."


	3. Chapter 3

**3.**

"But why should Chris be afraid of Kane? Aside from the obvious reasons."

Overhearing his name spoken, Kane stopped short. Around the corner carried the voices of Matt Hardy and Adam Copeland, commonly known as Edge. The two men stood in front of a vending machine. Their backs were to Kane. He was safe where he stood.

It had been Adam who'd asked the question. Matt answered, "You know how Jericho is. Underneath all that ego and bravado is a frightened, fragile person."

If Chris Jericho was fragile, considered Kane, then Mark was the tooth fairy. The only fragile bone in Chris' body… Well, Kane had to admit that, technically, all of the bones were fragile when impacted upon by a chokeslam or tombstone piledriver. Still, Jericho was no shrinking violet. He spoke his mind even when no one wanted to hear it.

Matt continued, "Put yourself in his position. Imagine you're Chris Jericho."

"I weep at the thought," grumbled Adam. Matt's pinch made him wince. They had a performance to put on and, apparently, he wasn't pulling his weight. "Go on."

This was Matt's plan. He wasn't about to let Adam screw it up. "You could, conceivably, get anyone you want. " Adam threw him a disbelieving look. "_Conceivably_. But what if the one you sought was unattainable. Untouchable, even. You know Kane."

Adam rubbed the back of his neck. Boy, did he know Kane… "We've met."

"What do you think would happen to Chris if he were to go up to Kane and express his feelings? Uncover his soul? Bear his heart?"

"Severe trauma," nodded Adam. "Said heart would get ripped out. Not to mention the further damage done to his other parts and organs."

"If you were Chris, would you risk it? This is a twenty-four seven company we work for. You don't get transferred to another unit just because you got romantically shot down and physically thrown into a dumpster. Chris would rather live the heartache of not having Kane's love than the agony of knowing it does not exist. What would you have Chris do?"

Kane waited, heart pounding, lungs screaming for air. He would not breathe, would not blink until he heard Adam's counsel.

He did not have to wait long.

"Hide it," suggested Adam. "Bury it deep inside himself until he forgets it's even there. There is no way Kane would return his affections. The man – if he can even be considered one – has no heart. Lacks even the finest shred of compassion. You know Kane's history as well as I do. Kane is incapable of love. All Chris would receive for his efforts are pain and suffering of the highest degree. It is up to us to keep Chris strong. I'd rather he endure the pain of the might-have-beens than the most assured of ass-kickings courtesy of the Big Red Machine."

In agreement, the two continued down the hall and out of sight.

The words of Matt and Adam had cut Kane deeper than even he had imagined possible. Contrary to what they believed, he did have feelings. He was not made of unbreakable stone, even though he was forced to present himself as such. He had a heart. And it raced in his chest at the possibility.

"Love…me?" Kane's voice was soft and uncertain. There was no disgust. No thought of violent reprisal. Merely shock that such a thing was possible.

In the story books, Beauty always fell in love with the Beast. Discovering that there was something inside worth caring for. Seldom did that happen in real life. Beauty stuck with beauty. That was the way of the world. Even in the story, the Beast is transformed into a handsome prince.

Kane was no prince. As brother to the Lord of Darkness, fear and fire were his props. They had served him well over the years. Perhaps too well. Others kept their distance, which was what Kane wanted. _Had_ wanted. He was as unkind to them as life had been to him.

What need had he for _love_? Love was fake and fleeting. Love made one weak and stupid. Left one open to the cruel weapons of others. Kane would rather wield the blade than be skewered by it.

"Love me?" he repeated. "I could love him if I wanted. I'm just as good as anybody else. Better, even." Kane knew pain and heartache. If given the opportunity, Kane would not mistreat Chris' love. Would not abandon it as his had been. "If Chris chooses to share his affection, I will not give him reason to regret it. I will show my worthiness and silence those who think so little of me."

* * *

Hunched over a crossword puzzle, Chris Jericho was unprepared as the Undertaker crashed through the door. The distance between the locker room entrance and the bench upon which Chris sat was quickly swallowed by Mark's massive strides. Chris had time for only one word – "What" – before a hand wrapped itself around his neck.

Forcing Jericho back against the metal lockers, Mark had to remind himself not to enjoy himself too much. If he wasn't careful, the man might piss his pants. Growling deep in his throat, he allowed himself a tighter squeeze. Jericho's eyes shone like marbles. "Have I got your attention?"

Chris could not move his neck to nod or find his voice to speak. He resorted to a series of blinks.

"I'll take that as a yes," said Mark. "You and I haven't crossed paths enough for me to give a damn about what you do and who you choose to do it with. Just keep my brother out of it."

Sweat rolling down his temple, Chris struggled to recall the last interaction he'd had with Kane. Passing in the hallway, most likely. They seldom said two words to each other.

"From the look on your face, I'm going to assume that you have no idea what I'm talking about. Fine. Play dumb as long as you want. Just don't _be_ dumb." His hold slackened only slightly. "We may not act like it sometimes, but Kane and I are family. Family takes care of and looks out for each other. This is a warning, Jericho. I know your type. Contrary to what you think, God didn't break the mold after making you. I can see an asshole by daylight."

"I –"

"Shut. Up." This is too good, thought Mark. Even if things didn't work out between Kane and Chris, he would cherish this moment always. "I'm no Jerichoholic. I'm not blinded by you shiny shirt or swayed by your easy grin. Unlike my brother, Kane is…" Mark let the sentence dangle. "Different."

The difference between a summer's breeze and a hurricane. Chris was not about to say that aloud. He got the feeling that he was meant to listen rather than reply. And, if Mark did not release him soon, Chris wondered how much feeling he would have left.

Locked eye to eye, Mark grumbled, "Maybe it's your looks. Many a man has been made a fool due to a pretty face. You've confidence in spades. Something Kane does not. Perhaps he sees something in you he wishes he had in himself. I can't reason out his fascination with you. What I _can_ do is keep you the hell away from him. You're no good to someone like Kane."

While his survival instincts told him to stay quiet, Jericho could not let such a comment slide. "And what's wrong with me?"

Mark's grin could make a lion turn tail and run. "Shall we do this alphabetically? You're arrogant, a bastard, conceited, devious…"

"Now that's the pot calling the kettle black." Chris attempted to peel Mark's fingers away from his neck. "Between the two of us, who has done the most damage to Kane. Coffin matches. An inferno match. Years and years of torment. I'm the good witch of the freaking north compared to you."

The man had balls. Mark had to concede that. And if he was going to stand on the same level as Kane, Chris was going to need a great big pair of brass ones. "You saying you're better than me?"

"I'm saying Kane could do worse. And he doesn't need you to protect him."

"I'm saving him from himself. What does a relationship with you get him? I'm sure you're good for some laughs and rumpling the sheets. Deep down, you've got the substance of cotton candy. That's all you are, Jericho. Cotton candy. Kane's got a taste for you now but, in the end, you'll make him sick to his stomach, leaving me to clean up the mess." Mark released Chris. "You've been warned. Take it to heart."

To his credit, Chris did not so much as flinch when the door slammed shut.

The nerve of that guy! Chris respected the Undertaker because he was the freaking Undertaker. Those dumb enough to show disrespect ended up with a tire tread running up their back.

That being said, where did Mark get off calling Chris bad for Kane? Chris had seen Kane's ex. That bitch looked like an extra from _Planet of the Apes_. How she could choose a weasel like X-Pac over Kane was beyond him. Actually, Chris could see the motivation. By throwing Kane under the bus and hooking up with a member of D-Generation X, Tori got to play in Princess Stephanie's court. Chris supposed that, if he were bedding X-Pac, he would need all the perks he could get.

Kane had gotten over the break up in a classic fashion. By kicking ass and taking names. Earning his ex the nickname Tombstone Tori. While Chris did not advocate violence against women, he was impressed by the level of fear Kane instilled in his enemies.

What control did Chris have over Kane's feelings? He was supposed to go out of his way to be a jackass to someone who did not deserve such treatment? All on the orders of the Undertaker? Chris was not an orders-taking kind of guy. Even when it was in his best interests.

He could still feel Mark's fingers digging into his throat.

Common sense, Chris reasoned, was overrated. If Mark viewed Chris as some sort of danger to Kane – which was ridiculous – then that was Mark's problem. Kane could do worse than Chris and Chris could do worse than Kane.


	4. Chapter 4

**4.**

What happens when you call sweet little Stephanie McMahon a skank and a slut night after night? If you're Chris Jericho, you end up wrestling against Shane McMahon. Shane O'Mac took offense to Chris' taunts, intending to write his displeasure all over the Ayatollah or RocknRollah.

Chris took it all in good stride. Watching Shane jump around the ring, working himself into a lather. This was the second angry brother Chris was confronting in less than a week. At the rate he was going, he expected to be getting some hate mail from Matt Hardy in a matter of days regarding some perceived slight against Jeff.

Speaking of the Hardys, they had been acting quite suspicious lately. Cutting off conversations as soon as Chris stepped into the room. He'd overheard Kane's name mentioned on one occasion. Jeff and Matt had been bent over what Chris assumed to be Jeff's laptop. Most likely checking out that site again.

There was no time to contemplate the workings of the Hardy mind. The countdown had started. Shane McMahon waited in the ring. Hell bent on defending his sister's honor.

Surprisingly, Shane gave as good as he got. The match went back and forth, each man gaining then losing the upper hand. Following an unexpected reversal, Chris knocked Shane down to the mat. He was preparing for his finishing move when the meaty hand of the Big Show wrapped around his ankle. Yanking Chris off his feet.

The ref rang the bell, calling the match in Jericho's favor due to interference. That, unfortunately, did not stop the Big Show. Chris rolled onto his back, only to be greeted by the behemoth's big boot. It slammed down onto Chris' stomach, nearly snuffing the life out of him.

"This is business," shouted the Big Show over the boos of the crowd. "It's not that I don't like you. I just know which side my bread is buttered. Nothing personal."

Chris could not respond. Mainly because he could barely get his lungs to work, let alone involve his brain in coming up with a witty retort.

Fingers as thick as sausages reached down and grabbed Chris by the hair. He was yanked violently to his feet. Preservation kicked in. The only way to survive was to take the big man down. Chris applied a mule-kick to one of the Big Show's knees. The man howled in pain and dropped down to one knee. What he did not do was release Chris' hair.

Much to his dismay, the Big Show caught Chris' leg as he attempted a blow to the larger man's head. In a blink, Chris was back on his back on the mat. His jaw clenched shut, cutting off the curse forming on his lips. Things were not going as well as Chris had originally planned.

Shane's smug face hovered above Chris. "Nothing smart to say now, Jericho?"

The whole place went dark. Two pillars of flame blazed towards the ceiling. Bathing the arena in their extreme heat. Down the ramp stalked Kane. The crowd cheered at his entrance into the fray. Hopefully, he was interceding on Jericho's behalf.

All it took was one look at the Big Red Machine rumbling down the ramp like a malevolent thundercloud for Shane to clamber out of the ring. The Big Show lacked the brains to follow suit.

Foolishly, he approached Kane as he climbed over the top rope. "I don't get beef with you, so just slink back into whatever hole you crawled out of."

Even though they stood at approximately the same height, the Big Show was nowhere near Kane's level. Show did Shane's dirty work out of payment and, perhaps, some form of loyalty. Kane operated for completely different reasons. There wasn't a white stallion sturdy enough for Kane to ride in one. That would not stop him from teaching this interloper a lesson. While Shane had the Big Show for back up, Chris could depend on Kane.

"Leave," growled the Beast.

The Big Show shook his big, empty head. "This isn't your fight."

The fingers clamped around his throat said different. Drawing the Big show involuntarily closer, Kane uttered just three words. "It is now."

The crowd was on its feet as the Big Show was raised off of his. They missed the look of incredulity on Chris' face. Cradling his midsection where the big boot had landed, he rolled out of the way. Kane brought the Big Show down. Dropping him like an atomic bomb. The mat rocked under the weight of the doomed man.

Not one to be outdone, Chris took a running leap across the downed Big Show, planted his feet on the bottom rope, and sprung off. A perfectly executed Lionsault. Though the landing irritated the muscles in his abdomen, Chris would not wipe the smile of satisfaction on his face.

The two men faced each other, standing on either side of the unfortunate fallen wrestler.

"Thanks," said Chris. The cheering of thousands of fans drowned out his words, but not the sentiment.

Kane raised his arms in the air, then dropped them to his sides. The ring posts ignited. Jericho did not flinch as the flames erupted. Grinning, Chris extended a hand.

"Don't do it, Jericho!" they heard Jerry Lawler screech into the microphone. "Kane's liable to take your head off, too!"

To the surprise of everyone but Chris, Kane grasped the offered hand and shook it. There was no violence between them. No double-cross. Just two men celebrating the trouncing of an opponent.

Chris exited the ring first. He watched Kane perform a back-flip using the top rope for leverage, landing squarely on his feet beside Chris. Together, the two of them walked up the ramp. Fans howled on either side.

Backstage, Chris mentioned, "Your brother's a jerk."

"No arguments from me," shrugged Kane. "He's been a pain in my ass for years." Turning to leave, Chris shuffled into his path. Blocking his escape.

"One question," said Chris. "That mask… Do you ever… take it off?"

Kane paused. "I don't sleep with it on if that's what you're asking."

"Well, I figured… I figured…" Chris tripped over his own tongue. It was very unlike him. "I figured that… well… you gotta eat, right?"

"Yeah…" Kane had no clue where any of this was going. "On occasion."

This, Jericho realized, was not going as smoothly as he had envisioned in his mind. Even though his face was hidden behind the mask, Chris could see Kane's eyes. They were looking at him as if her were a raving lunatic foaming at the mouth. "I thought that… Maybe since we'll still be in town tomorrow and have some time off… Maybe… You'd like to eat food… in a restaurant… with me…"

Kane ran through all of his previous meal invitations in his mind. They all consisted of Mark's "Hey, wanna grab a burger?" Kane required clarification. "Are you asking me out to dinner?"

"I thought we might start with lunch," replied Chris. He could not tell from Kane's tone if the man was interested or insulted. "Maybe some Chinese food. There's a buffet not too far from here."

It took Kane a moment to reconcile it all in his mind. Going out. To a restaurant. With Chris Jericho. Having to remove his mask and make conversation. The situation sounded daunting. Much more difficult that dispatching the Big Show. "Are you sure about that?"

"Are you ashamed to be seen in public with me? I promise I don't chew with my mouth open."

Kane's hesitation had more to do with his own drawbacks rather than Chris' questionable table manners. "Just so you know what you're getting into…" Kane reached behind his head, unlatching his mask. Automatically, his head fell forward. A wave of dark hair splashed across the side of his face.

Chris reached up and swept the hair aside. "Huh… Is that all?"

"Is that _all_?" Kane was thunderstruck.

"What I mean is… Well, I had steeled myself for Freddy Kruger… You know… Horrific… Truth be told, this wouldn't scare most kids come Halloween. But the mask is imposing, so I'd keel that for, you know, effect."

"Effect," Kane repeated. He didn't know whether to laugh or scream. Chris Jericho, it seemed, was insane. "I'll meet you in the hotel lobby tomorrow at eleven."

With one man shaking his head in astonishment and the other punching the air in triumph, the two separated. Heading off in opposite directions.

Four men crouched behind a row of garbage cans. Mark, Jeff, Matt, and Adam stood up. Shock and disbelief etched on their faces. Chinese buffet was far from declarations of undying affections. But it was a start.

Chest puffed out, hands on hips, Matt Hardy declared, "I'm a genius!"

**END**


End file.
